This Is How Champions Are Made

My mother and I have quite different senses of humor. She is the queen of puns, and I prefer sarcastic remarks. She detests sexual jokes, and I could watch Kathy Griffin all day. I am a firm believer that a well-timed curse word is much to be desired, and (even though she is more likely to swear out loud than I am) she wrinkles her nose in disgust while watching Rated R movies. She snorts when she laughs, and I am more likely to have tears streaming down my face.

She also claims that she doesn’t really “get” the whole blogging thing. I have a blog. My dad has a blog. Some of my best friends have blogs. The urge to tell the world about her many adventures is usually limited to calling her best friend and telling her what she’s getting for her birthday. (Because they can’t keep secrets. At all.) She rather believes that no one would really care to hear of her adventures, which is utterly false.

Blogosphere, I give you my mother’s daily habit of creating contests which she has already won.

Her job takes her all over the area, into homes large and small. Working by herself is a lot like blogging in that it doesn’t necessarily provide a lot of entertainment. Exciting moments are few and far between, and are often of her own creation. (But not necessarily. There was the house with the labyrinth and secret passageway. And the house with the fence where the moose mamas would come teach their babies how to jump, like the Mini Moose Olympics. And the homeowners with a three-year-old little boy who showed my mom his “moves”– a somewhat controlled flailing of arms and legs with a disco-like quality and a little bit of the twist in the hip region. It’s now all the rage in my household.)

After she examines the properties, she walks back to the car, sits down in the driver’s seat, and reflects upon the experience she has just had. Then, in a moment of pure joy, she throws her arms into the air and yells, “I win!!!”

It’s really good news that she won, because she hadn’t made up the rules yet.

However, it would be foolish to say that the rules don’t matter. Of course the rules matter. The rules are the most important part. They just can’t be determined until after the experience has already happened. The situation must be properly appraised and the event successfully completed. Then she can declare herself the winner.

In the latest particular case, the homeowners were the loving parents of:

Five running horses

Four Irish Wolfhounds

Three purring kitties

Two talking parrots

And a partridge in a pear tree.

Only that last one isn’t true. It’s also not exactly a lie, because the point is that my mom “won” the championship of having lived out a Christmas song. Such an accomplishment must be celebrated!

At the end of her life, she is going to be up with St. Peter, an iced tea in her hand, talking about all of her amazing accolades. Remember that time you won the championship of the green shag carpet? Or the championship of the business meeting turned torture device? And who could forget the championship of sitting up on top of the bookshelf as a kid, perched like a bird between the shelf and the ceiling? Sure, you were “caught,” but that was all part of the game. My gosh! The list just goes on and on! I think you need a plaque up here in Heaven!

And that is why my mother’s name will be inscribed on the Pearly Gates.

Really, I don’t know why we bloggers haven’t thought of this before. We’re pretty into celebrations. We’re also into anything self-serving. I know that now, after hearing my mother’s inspiring tale, I am totally into declaring myself the winner of a contest before I’ve made up the rules.

I win! At predicting the amount of time I should put my tea water in the microwave for optimum tea-soaking temperature. Closest to the correct time wins. And no, you can’t play with me.

I win! At getting slightly sunburnt on my right arm, thereby evening out my driving tan that had turned my left arm a lovely shade of cappuccino.

I win! At only getting BBQ sauce on my shirt but not on my dress, because that would have caused me to lose.

I win! At Minesweeper. I won by their rules, AND I won by my rules which say that in order to win, you must successfully guess where one of the mines is located when there is a 50/50 chance either way. I totally did that.

I win! At not answering every time the family in the vacation unit next door yells for their daughter, Jillian. And for usually answering when it is my family doing the yelling.

I win! At stripping the slice of American cheese off of my burger just in time for it to come off easily and not be glued to the meat, because the cooks at that restaurant don’t understand what “only lettuce” means. It takes a certain amount of skill that I have perfected over the years. It’s nice to be appreciated.

I win! At finishing this blog post.

——————–

At the risk of sounding like Charlie Sheen, why are you winning?

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12 thoughts on “This Is How Champions Are Made

  1. I WIN! At being the second person to comment on this blog! Because being first would have cause me NOT to win… sorry bout that Jamblinman. You should have read the rules… which I just made up upon seeing I was the second to post.

  2. I win! What was the game you ask? Well, I can’t tell you because you just would not understand the intricacies of the rules. But fear not, I am indeed the winner of the game. It’s a really cool game, too. And I’m really good at it. Shame it’s so far about your powers of perception. It’s a lot of fun, too. But super hard. Obviously, I have to be brilliant and talented to win at it every single time. Go me. I’m such a winner!!

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